


This Sort Of Thing

by Sylphidine_Gallimaufry



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Community: rotg_kink, Gift Fic, Guardian of Childhood Pitch Black, Multi, ROTG au, What Was I Thinking?, You Have Been Warned, bibliophilia is serious business, giant robot spider, madcap capers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-29 10:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5124752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylphidine_Gallimaufry/pseuds/Sylphidine_Gallimaufry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why should Pitch Black, retired Guardian of Caution, leave behind his creature comforts to save the world?  AGAIN??!!??</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disturbing The Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KS_Claw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KS_Claw/gifts).



> From the rotg_kinkmeme:  
> Pitch was the first Guardian, but when the others came around after the Dark Ages, he gladly stepped aside to let them take over. They would go to him for occasional advice on some things, but other than that, he was happy to be left in peace with his books and horses.  
> Now, years later, there is a threat to the world. The Guardians need Pitch's help, and while he doesn't like it, Pitch eventually agrees to help.

Some said Crean Deorcha was haunted; others laughed and pointed out that any property would look a bit rundown if there was only one person to oversee it. 

Most of the acreage surrounding the connected farmstead had been sold over time, back when the property changed hands from the Overlands, whose family tree dated back to the earliest settlers, to the Sickles, who took it over. Old-timers shook their heads and said that young people didn’t have the stick-to-it-iveness that their parents had, choosing instead to answer the siren song of the cities, hoping to make their fortunes but more likely wandering the world wherever the wind took them. 

And in the last few generations, even the Sickles seemed to have thinned out and gone, the young masters becoming stranger and shyer and more solitary as the years passed. No one could recall a house party or a dance being held at the big house in decades. And there hadn’t been a young mistress since even further back in local lore. 

The only constant at Crean Deorcha, through wind and snow and bloom and burr, was the succession of caretakers over time, all nephews or second cousins in an unbroken line, all with the surname Mariner. Every one of them as taciturn as his predecessor, every one of them lanky and sinewy, every one of them a great hand with horses, every one of them with a book to stick a long beaky nose in when, very rarely, the caretaker would drink a glass of cider in the pub, always paying with coins so worn that they were nearly black. 

Local wags would jest that it was a wonder that there was such a string of Mariners, with nary a Missus Mariner to been seen. And what kind of name was “Mariner” for a farmer? Someone back in the caretaker’s family tree must have been a sailor…. Or a pirate. 

The latest Mariner in residence had been caretaker of Crean Deorcha for about ten years, and bore the unusual given name of “Tarminster”. If people shortened it in his hearing to “Tar”, he would gravely but firmly state that he would prefer the use of his surname. Barring that, if he *must* be subjected to a nickname, he would suggest that people call him “Pitch”. 


	2. Worry, Panic, Dread, Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long before the Man in the Moon named his Guardians of humanity's children, Gaea had Guardians of her own to care for her offspring. And Fear was among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was directly Inspired by this work by [Nattlys](http://nxghtlight.deviantart.com/art/The-Cousins-Black-628589858) on DeviantArt, and has springboarded off the marvelous Wangst AU comics and the ensuing plethora of Pitches created by the admin of [Ask Pitch's Wardrobe](http://ask-pitchs-wardrobe.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.

_Long before the Man in the Moon named his Guardians to care for humanity's children, Gaea had Guardians of her own to care for her offspring. And Fear was among them._

_Fear at first was formless, as were many of the earliest creatures. Fear did not think in those days... it merely lashed out and caused reactions in the simplest cells, reactions that would make those cells move away from it._

_And Gaea approved of Fear, and watched its progress as her creatures took form and evolved. She took pleasure in knowing that Fear moved in their minds to keep them safe from harm._

_And as more and more new creatures learned to know Fear, Fear in turn learned with them. Fear became powerful and wily in the shapes that it took, and knew that it was a part of the force that kept the creatures alive._

_Fear ran on all fours, slithered on its belly, wheeled on wings, swam through depths, slashed with beak and talons, sank fangs into flesh and drew blood with claws._

_And then one type of creature among Gaea's many creatures took Fear's fancy, and Fear began to watch this new type of creature more closely than any of the others. Fear did not leave any of the other creatures behind, but spent more and more time with the youngest of Gaea's offspring, fascinated by the way it viewed itself as it grew and changed, and most particularly how it **imagined**_. 

_As creatures established dominance on land, in the air, and in the sea, some of Gaea's offspring grew numerous; others did not thrive. Fear both guided the new creature and was guided by it, to the point where the new creatures first named themselves humans, and then gave names to Fear._

_Fear found itself dividing into multiple forms to match the names given to it. Each name had a different sort of hold over the psyche, holds that still ruled the older creatures in their need to freeze, flee, or fight when faced with danger, but holds which were more refined in the thoughts and imaginations of the humans..._


	3. Will You Won't You Will You Won't You Will You Join The Dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curmudgeon prepares for company, both wanted and unwanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I'm forever apologizing for delays in updating my fics. This one has been soooooooooooo difficult to wrangle.

There was little wind on this mid-September day, but the spaces between the trees in the fruit orchard were _rippling_. 

There was no other word to describe it.

The tall lean man continued to gather pears from laden branches, feigning unconcern despite knowing, deep in his metaphorical bones, that _something_ was going to shatter his tranquility. Life had been too quiet, of late. He balanced carefully on his ladder and continued to drop fruit into bushel baskets below him, while waiting for his unseen visitor to emerge from seeming thin air. 

When no "pop!" or thunderclap was forthcoming, the caretaker raised a thin eyebrow. And then a large hand clamped onto his shoulder, at a height that no human should possibly be able to reach.

"Pitch Black, my old friend! You are looking well!"

Anyone else... anyone human... would have been forgiven for being startled enough to have fallen from the ladder.

Bur Tarminster Mariner, who had previously been Petronius Mariner and Reynolds Mariner and Constant Mariner and a dozen others in the last two centuries, caretakers all to the Overlands and the Sickles, was not human.

Neither was the enormous bearded being currently hovering a good six feet off the ground, garbed in a voluminous fur-trimmed red coat more suited to the frigid sweeps of northern Asia than to the temperate climate of North America. The caretaker sighed in exasperation and snapped, "And YOU are looking extremely out of place". 

The giant did not appear to be the slightest bit embarrassed. "No hug?"

"Certainly not!"

"Well then," said the interloper, his voice now far less booming and jolly, "May we speak of serious matters? I would not trouble you otherwise."

 _I knew it, I knew it!_ screamed the caretaker... within the confines of his own mind, of course. He had no reason to dislike this visitor, and there had been times in the past where they'd actually fought enemies back-to-back. There were rites and rules to be observed, and debts to be paid. And so, with a softened tone [but still a begrudging one], he replied, "Come back after dark, to the house. It's not going to do my reputation any good to have the locals thinking that I'm talking to myself."

A few hours later, after popping in and out of all eight chimneys of the Big House, North finally found Pitch seated in a rocking chair by the fire in the kitchen of the Little House. Pitch had reverted to his spirit form for this visit... impossibly elongated limbs accentuated by his long black robe, ridiculously long fingers currently flexing and unflexing in the shadow-fabric of said robe, hair stiffened into a swept-back crest. He did, however, sport one human feature... small half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his prominent nose. A well-loved copy of Edward Lear's _Nonsense Songs, Stories, Botany and Alphabets_ lay open on his lap.

"Now tell me, Nicholas," the former Guardian of Caution uttered grimly to the present Guardian of Wonder, "what could possibly be world-shaking enough to need MY assistance?"

====================

The first sign that things were a-stirring at the Sickle farmstead came from a notice posted at the village tavern. A general call was put out for housemaids, cooks and job-men. The ballroom and Great Hall were to be opened and aired, bedchambers above and below to be dusted, scrubbed, and put into apple-pie order, employment to last for three weeks at generous wages.

The news spread like wildfire, and speculation was keen and lively. Young Jacob Sickle must be coming home from his studies in the big city.

Sophie, one of the newer serving girls at the tavern, was the first one brave enough and bold enough to approach Mister Mariner, as she served him an ale, three nights after the notice had been put up. The landlord had avowed publicly that it was none of his business, although privately he was curious as could be, and none of the other girls could think of a way to open a conversation without risking a haughty rebuff.

Not that the current caretaker of Crean Deorcha had ever been rude or unmannerly to the tavern staff; quite the contrary, in fact. He was always polite, unlike one or two of his predecessors. Tales were still told of the sharp tongue and fiery temper of Reynolds Mariner, who had held the joint positions of estate steward and village schoolmaster at the turn of the century. It was rumoured that he had worked himself into a state of apoplexy and had had to retire for the sake of his nerves.

Tarminster Mariner, on the other hand, while not gregarious, unbent himself to take part in village life from time to time, particularly if conversations could be turned to folklore and local legends. But there was a distinct reserve about him, and the harsh angles of his face, coupled with his often keen and piercing gaze from bright grey eyes, made him not the most approachable of persons.

Nevertheless, Sophie was fond of Mister Mariner; she relished the ghost stories he would sometimes tell an audience of spellbound children and adults during winter socials and literaries, after harvesting was done. At the grand old age of fourteen, she felt that she knew him well enough to ask him the question that was on the minds of all the villagers of Hawthorne.

"Are you expecting company, Sir? Everyone's been talking about the sign you put up."

Pitch laid his book aside and gave her a small smile of acknowledgement. He trusted Sophie enough to believe that whatever he told her would be accurately repeated... with the emphasis on "accurately". 

"Well, my dear, they aren't MY guests, exactly; they are Master Sickle's guests. He's planning a house party, which is why we'll need more household help for a few weeks." He leaned towards the young girl and whispered conspiratorially, "They're _foreigners_ , you see... some of his science crackpot friends... and while I can toss together a fry-up for myself, it's going to take more hands than mine to keep 'em cosseted and fed while they do heaven knows what."

Sophie giggled and hid a grin behind her hand. Poor Mister Mariner. "When will they be arriving, Sir?"

"On the last day of September, and there's so much to do. You shan't see much of me until they're gone."

And that was that. His absence from village life would now not be questioned, nor would the appearance of strangers at the farmstead.

At least Jack would be at his side through all of this. His irrepressible, unquenchable Jack.


	4. Rules of Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More players emerge, from sunlight and from shadow.

_Time and again over the millennia, from the time that the primal forces of fear coalesced into separate yet related thinking beings, one thought repeated itself... why are we different from the others who guide and shape human thought?  Why have we divided when the others have stayed whole?_

_And why has one of us stayed formless and primal, while the rest of us have evolved?_

 ====================================

"We are going to do this my way, Nicholas."  Pitch's tone brooked no argument.  The elder spirit gazed sternly at the younger over the rims of his half-moon spectacles.  "I have entrenched myself in this mortal community for a reason, and if someone... some power.. is trying to subvert humans into... older... patterns of behaviour, I feel it best not to alarm those in my immediate vicinity, at least until we know what we are fighting against." 

"But this threat MUST be one of your splinters!  I feel it... in my belly!"

"Then how do you know it's not me?" Flames from the kitchen hearth leaped fiercely; shadows roiled along the rough-hewn walls in indistinct but fearsome patterns.

Despite his heavy coat and his well-padded bulk, North could not repress an involuntary shiver.  Retired Guardian or not, Pitch was still a force of Nature, quite literally, and was capable of wielding great power.  The fact that he  _chose_  not to devastate the Earth by coalescing with his kin and sweeping all Life into unending darkness did not mean that he  _couldn't_  do it.

And Pitch was the  _least_  volatile of the incarnations of Fear.  When one compared "worry" to the other embodiments of "panic, dread, and wrath".... well...

North knew Pitch would not like the answer to his sharply-worded question, but there was no help for it. "We know it is not you because Manny told us so."

"You were... told."  His host's thin lips thinned even further in disapproval at the mention of the Man in the Moon.  "So I was under suspicion?  And you had to be... told... by that feckless ivory tower philomath that I was not the enemy of the world, rather than trusting me, your comrade in battle?"

Pitch slowly moved the book off his lap and onto the shelf beside him, got to his feet equally slowly, and moved to stand in front of his seated guest.  North remained silent, unsure of what to say to dispel the hurt in his old friend's eyes.

The curator of nightmares sighed after a seemingly interminable silence, turned on his heel with a swish of shadowy robe, and began to pace.

"If this threat  _IS_  one of my kin, we need to approach them one at a time."

North was quick to agree.  "I will summon other Guardians..."

"No,  **WE**  will summon other... Guardians," retorted Pitch.  "Jack and I will summon them.  In the midst of the human community, this needs to be done in the human way."

"And what way is that?" North asked, genuinely confused now.

Pitch's harsh face was transformed by one of his unnerving grins, with many sharp teeth in evidence.

"We host a house party, of course."

====================================

Tarminster Mariner, the caretaker of Crean Deorcha, met Marwin Rudd, the town librarian, at the Unionville station just as the train arrived in a shower of soot and sparks.  To any human observer, the two men looked nothing alike, apart from height; the former Sickle family tutor sported curling auburn hair and van Dyke beard, as well as tinted round spectacles.

Anyone with The Sight, however, would think they were seeing twin brothers; with glamour stripped away, the librarian's hair was just as black as that of "Mister Mariner", his facial features just as angular and pale. 

Piki was fussing about “the ruffians” handling the luggage.  Pitch wondered why Piki was not leaping onto the train to fuss over Jack, and made a caustic comment to that effect.

Piki’s expression was a fond one, as was to be expected in matters pertaining to Jack.  “Our Jack has… grown.  You’ll see.”  Surprisingly, Piki’s expression was also suffused with pride, which Pitch did  _not_  expect.

Having anticipated the familiar hunched-over, slight-to-the-point-where-a-stiff-breeze-would-topple-him waif, Pitch was startled to see a tall, slim, confident young man descend surefootedly from the train and stride towards them, hand extended.

Jacob Sickle apparently still favoured dressing in shades of blue and brown, but he now longer looked like his garments were three sizes too large.  His cravat was snowy white, his waistcoat was sleek, his frockcoat well-fitting and his trousers snug.  He moved lightly, but no longer hesitantly, and while there was still a touch of shyness and uncertainty in his eyes, his smile was closer to a grin than to a rictus of fear.

Pitch silently applauded what was an undeniably masterful acting performance on the part of the young master of Crean Deorcha.  Letting a little bit of Jack Frost show through the customary timidity of past generations of Overlands and Sickles would do no harm.  The villagers might even get used to Jack's mischievous side, given time.

A burly man in a railway staff uniform helped Pitch load Jack's valises into the waiting carriage.  Under the cover of the train's noise as it prepared to resume its journey, the man, whose name badge read "Peter Constant", gave Pitch's ear a swipe of his tongue and whispered, "Later, dear."

Pitch grimaced and then quickly twisted his expression into something more appropriate for curious onlookers.  Once Piki and Jack were seated inside the carriage, Pitch climbed up onto the driving box and lightly clapped the reins on the backs of the two black beautiful horses in harness.

The first set of pieces had been moved onto the chessboard.


	6. Notes File

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A placeholder chapter. Creating some original characters to mix into this slow-cooker stew of a story.

The non-Guardian houseguests will include:

  * Melia Fraxinus, a forest spirit, closely associated with ash trees and the _lepidoptera_ which feed on them.
  * Doris Tyche, an ocean spirit, associated with luck and good fortune.
  * Alida Schwarm, an earth spirit, associated with airborne illnesses and natural decay.
  * Iansa Oya, an air spirit, associated with windstorms.
  * Tyva Kyzyl, a fire spirit associated with music and blood.



Then there are the parents of the Burgess Believers, who reside in the village of Hawthorne [original name of Burgess] to whom I've given the surnames Leslie [Cupcake], Montgomery [Monty], Chandler [Pippa], and Belazair [Caleb and Claude].

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully more substance and less filler soon.


End file.
